fill my heart with song
by viti8
Summary: and let me sing forevermore, you are all I long for all I worship and adore, in other words, please be true (cross-posted from ao3!)


_She should've known something was wrong._

Alto prepared himself for one last charge towards the center of Cartesia, drew his blade, connected and—nothing. Everything vanished. Everyone was back in the Hall of the Mother—but the Mother was gone.

She should've known something was horribly, horribly wrong.

Sakuya and the other Witches were dazed, confused, and all talking at once. _"What happened?" "Where's Eve?" "Did we win?"_ and so forth.

He stood away from them, sword in hand, in the direction of where the massive qualia had once floated. Alto was stock still. Every passing second of his silence seemed to widen the distance between them by miles.

And then he said her name. " _Sakuya!_ " he called to the air, quieting the panic and discontent for a moment. The Conductor was asking for his favorite Witch. Everything was under control.

The Fire Witch whipped around toward him in an instant. He was facing away from her, but his arm lay extended behind him, an invitation to their habitual dance. She nodded in a meaningless reply, and rushed to him, caught between her duty and a daydream.

She'd grown to love every second of conduction, as she hoped he did too. Tuning was an arduous, difficult, unpleasant process, but being conducted—being conducted by _Alto_ —was serene, everything that made her feel special and loved for who she was. Sakuya didn't stumble over herself, didn't get stuck on his little missteps; her heart just melted into the world, and they shared a thousand conversations at once.

In those minuscule, fleeting moments, she could tell him everything that she desperately wanted to, but that she couldn't bring herself to say with words. And so she ran to him, exhilarated at the chance to experience it even amidst a fight for both of their lives.

Perhaps the other Witches were murmuring, maybe even yelling for her, but her world was silent. All that mattered was reaching him, getting to that enveloping grasp that told her everything would be ok. The polished, marble-like floor made a mirror copy of her that raced along at her heels.

Sakuya reached for his hand after what felt like hours of running in the massive, now empty chamber. The moment she grabbed him and their fingertips touched, she felt a rush of relief and comfort.

 _She had so many chances, so many opportunities, why didn't she see it—_

Alto spun her around to face him, and they nodded towards each other as partners in a performance as old and grand as the hall they stood in. Their hands and eyes remained with the other, unable to be torn apart. He was so warm, even with the lifeless chill of space encircling them. How could she bear to be separated from that warmth, even for a minute?

Fingers entwined, Alto led her into a twirl and gently dipped her low, their faces only inches apart. Sakuya felt nothing but the warmth of security when they were like this; despite, or perhaps because of, the blade he pressed to her throat. No matter how sharp it may be (did it seem sharper today?) it could not sever those bonds of trust. She glanced to the floor, only to see their fairytale of a reflection sparkling up at her; a prince and princess, amidst a ballroom of shimmering luster, locked in embrace.

She stared into him as the point of the Song Stone grazed her skin. It hurt, it always hurt just a bit—it was like a shot, put the pain was deeper, less acute. Sakuya always found herself watching his face during this part, even when they first met. Alto's brow always quirked slightly up in concern, his smile tinged with worry, but every part of him shone with compassion. He looked like he was trying with all his might to ease away even the smallest trace of her pain. And somehow, just with that sentiment, he did.

When she looked into his eyes now, though, everything was murky. He beamed at her, but it seemed crooked, hung at the wrong angle. His expression seemed painted on as a forgery; everything was in place, but it was just a facsimile, hollow and emotionless. Alto's heart had been planted boldly on his sleeve for as long as she'd known him, so why was it that _now_ , he was so unreadable?

 _That was her last chance._

Sakuya pushed her wavering thoughts aside. He was tired, he'd been fighting, he was acting for everyone's sake—those were the words that she forced into her head.

 _And she wasted it._

She relaxed into his arms, knowing that whatever anxieties they harbored would spill out the instant the Song Stone pierced her heart. So she waited for that feeling, in a world of only two.

It never came.

Just the pain, lighter, sharper, and the sensation of something dripping down her chest.

She felt a twinge in her mind, as though all of her thoughts stopped in place. Sakuya's grip on her body fizzled away. She didn't remember turning her head, but all she saw was a crooked, engorged line of red through her skin, growing fatter by the second. It shone slightly, and she could just make out the phantom of his face in the refracted light.

Alto's eyes were empty, void of malice or kindness, but he smiled so enthusiastically that he pushed them half closed. There was no cruelty in it, no warmth, chill, _nothing_ —the only hint of reaction was how tightly he clasped the blade in his hand. He gripped it crudely, making a fist around the hilt, so hard that his hand was shaking.

As the the thoughts began to reawaken within her, he continued to sketch into his canvas, dragging the ink of red down to the center of her ribcage. She knew it hurt, but her senses were too dull to pay it mind until the blade found its mark upon her sternum and he began to push.

It was like fire. She knew fire, and this, it was a conflagration. From the single point where he pressed down into her, agony arose and spread, burning every inch of her upper body. The pain was too intense for her to register where her legs were—were they even there anymore? Anything could've happened. Her chest was being slowly singed away, but every millisecond of it was too much.

Sakuya had never broken a bone before. She was kept much too sheltered, much too safe to have had anything beyond a sprain. The shock of her ribs starting to crack was a prelude to the even worse waves of misery, but subdued it somewhat as well. Her brain was in overdrive, doing everything to distract from the pain, while desperately trying to process something, _anything_ , besides it.

 _That's not the Song Stone_ , she noted. It was a clean, unmarked blade, lacking the ornate designs on the hilt the Song Stone possessed. _That's just a sword. It's not even his._

Alto twitched, seeming to meet resistance at some point under her skin. He twisted the sword, squeezing a breathless scream out of her, and turned his eyes towards his work. Alto grabbed the pommel with his hand, trembling from the amount of sheer force he used. The expert precision and power behind his strike made him look like a welder, concealed behind an expressionless mask.

 _Crack._ One rib, then two more. If there were any following, Sakuya couldn't count them. Every heartbeat seared through her body, every breath grew shallower than the last, prickling through her lungs. She saw her own breastbone go concave from the pressure. But it was all surreal; no, maybe it felt _too_ real. Like this was, should be an ordinary thing. Nothing so preternatural had ever happened, she wasn't equipped to face it—she was left with a very ordinary psyche in the most extraordinary of circumstance.

With that thought came the sensation of stickiness, all over, seeping down to her waist. Her vision had been fixed upon her clothes, but she hadn't really seen them until then; they were a much darker red than usual, darkening still. That wasn't good.

The muscles in her arms and neck screamed, as every motion of them pulled against her chest. She couldn't move. She had nothing to do but hang limply like a ragdoll, waiting to be eaten alive by the tearing pain.

Sakuya stared past the blade that was embedded much too far into her chest. Was he all the way through her bones now? Were there any left? Did it even matter? For some reason she tried to speak, maybe to ask _why_. But on opening her mouth, all that came out was a glob of bilious, blackened gunk, leaving the taste of rust on her tongue.

Alto smiled brightly at her garbled attempt, and leaned away slightly, as an artisan admiring his handiwork. His eyes ticked down the gaping wounds he left in her, reading line by line; he stopped about halfway down, tilting his head to her left. He began to raise the sword, aligning it with some unknown point on her—in her.

 _My heart. He's going for my heart._

She couldn't see where he was looking, couldn't think where she was mutilated, but she knew exactly where he was going to strike. Maybe she'd known as soon as she saw the void in his eyes. And still she'd turned hers away.

As the tip of the apostate blade apparently came into position, he surged forward like a demon. She couldn't feel the pain of her heart being run through, or at least it wasn't any more painful than anything else. She could feel the gushing, though. Blood came rushing out as if a spigot had been turned, pooling on her skin, crusting along her clothes. Alto's hands shone with a glossy coating of it, staining his flesh permanently.

Sakuya's head reeled back, her neck sagging backwards like a broken marionette. The posture caused more and more blood to pool in her throat, forcing her to cough it out. Every wheeze ripped through her lungs, which now provided just the barest traces of air. Every deep breath she tried to take was cut short by her own blood, or simply couldn't be taken—she felt a massive weight pressuring them down, allowing only the shallowest, most painful breaths. She gurgled helplessly as the blood came into her mouth faster than she could spit it out, overflowing and trickling down her chin.

She could finally hear the shrieking. Sakuya didn't know if she had only noticed them now, or they had just noticed her, but it was definitely the voices of the other Witches. They were muffled though, behind several doors that she couldn't get through. Everything seemed vaguely muffled; warm, even. She felt...safe, again. Like she was curling up to go to sleep.

Alto woke her to reality, twisting the sword in her again. The pain didn't seem as bad, this time, but kept her agonizingly conscious to it all. He was drawing back. Her eyelids were heavy, but she had to watch.

In his final thrust, he pushed the sword into her once more. The sound of Sakuya's skin being torn apart was wet with blood. It sounded from every direction, leaving her stuck in the middle. The hilt of the sword was all that protruded from her chest now, a bulb amidst a spreading crimson flower.

He let go of the sword, letting it bob slightly as it remained stuck through her back. Alto's body swayed almost drunkenly, the arm that remained wrapped around her body the whole time faltering slightly.

He opened his mouth, and she heard a voice; very, very distantly. He spoke in a lilt, carefree and childlike. "Is that all the song you have for me?"

She coughed again, more blood spurting out of her. No words would come out. The only sound she made was a breathless, gargling croak.

He tutted softly, loosening the arm that held her up even more. "What a shame," he—it said. One hand, then the other, went to her face, bringing them closer. His lips met hers.

He clenched his grip into her cheeks, forcing his kiss deeper. Sakuya's arms could do nothing but swing lifelessly at her side as she began to slip off into slumber. It flooded to her body, weighing down into her arms and legs.

When he pulled away, his smile was still in place, smeared and darkened by blood. Her blood. The last of it. Sleep called louder now, more incessantly. Just her head remained above the surface.

It took a ragged breath, shaking his entire body. She was sinking beneath the conscious world, but she heard a voice that almost sounded like his. "He loved you too, you know?"

And she submerged into her dreams.


End file.
